


Letters From Peeta

by MTK4FUN



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: AU Historic, Adventure, F/M, Pioneer!Everlark, Romance, Wyoming Territory 1870
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-11 18:36:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2078811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MTK4FUN/pseuds/MTK4FUN
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Mr. P. Mellark, age 26, baker, wants a wife."  Katniss Everdeen's life is turned upside down when she answers an ad in the newspaper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

1870 - Omaha, Nebraska 

 

“You can’t be serious Katniss,” my sister Prim says. “You’re going to Wyoming Territory to marry a stranger?”

“He’s not a stranger,” I say as I roll my thick, dark braid into a bun and pin it up at the back of my head. “He’s written me three letters.”

“Three letters.” Prim is indignant. She sits in the chair in my bedroom, her hands resting calmly on her ever-growing belly. “I knew Rory for three years before he even asked to court me.”

“Things were different then.” 

She shakes her head at me, but she knows it’s true. Father and Mother were alive. Our family was intact. But a wagon accident a few months after Prim’s wedding ended their lives and brought me to live with my sister and brother-in-law.

They are kind, but I see the walls closing in on me. I am twenty-six years old with no prospects for marriage. No opportunity for a home of my own, a life of my own choosing. My sister is expecting and I face a certain future of being nursemaid to her children. 

Several months ago I saw an advertisement in the local newspaper. Mr. P. Mellark, age 26, baker, wants a wife. She must be under 30, amiable, and a hard worker. The address was a town in Panem, Wyoming.

No one has ever called me amiable but I am under thirty and a very hard worker. I write to Mr. Mellark to find out more about his offer. To my surprise he writes back. 

 

Dear Katniss, 

I was so pleased to receive your letter. I am happy to tell you about myself. I own a bakery in the town of Panem, Wyoming. My brother Rye runs the general store with his wife Delly, who like your sister is also expecting her first child.

I spend most of my time baking, but when I have free time I enjoy drawing sketches of the nearby Rocky Mountains.

You asked for my description. I am fair-haired and of average height. My eyes are blue. 

I would welcome further correspondence with you so we could get to know each other better.

Sincerely,  
Peeta Mellark 

 

I write back and tell this man Peeta about my unlady-like interest in hunting, and how proficient I am using a bow and arrows. I mention that I am short with grey eyes and dark hair.

He writes a second letter and tells me that I sound perfectly delightful. He says women in Wyoming are not limited to the traditional female roles. They are in fact practically equal to men now that the territorial government has given them the right to vote. In closing, he tells me dark hair and grey eyes are his very favorite combination.

I write again to say that I’m not the best cook, but I am a fiercely loyal person, and open to adventure.

He writes me a third letter proposing marriage and enclosing enough money to purchase a third class train ticket to Panem on the Union Pacific Railroad. 

I am not in love with Peeta. I barely know him. But judging from his letters, he seems to be a decent person, a hard worker, and someone I could grow to care about. Someone who offers this spinster a ray of hope. 

I show Prim the money. She is astounded that he would send it to me. “What if you kept it and didn’t go? He is far to trusting to make a good husband.”

“It’s because he likes me,” I say smugly. But secretly I think she may be right. He is far too trusting. 

Prim looks over all the letters. “He may be nice,” she finally says. “But we don’t know him.”

I tell her it is my choice to make, not hers. She gets angry and schemes to change my mind. She invites Rory’s family to dinner and tells them of my plans to move to Wyoming and marry a man I know only through three letters. 

Rory’s mother laughs at me. She tells me I should have married her oldest son Gale while I had the chance. Gale was interested in me years ago, but I did not return his interest. He is married to a woman named Madge now. Fortunately they live too far away to attend this meal.

When I still am not persuaded to give up my plan to move to Wyoming, Prim tries to convince me with tears. She cries for days on end, so long that I fear for the safety of her unborn child. 

Eventually she grows weary of weeping and uses the last weapon in her arsenal. 

“Who will comfort you when you have a nightmare?” 

“Why Peeta, of course.” But it worries me that he will be appalled at the terrifying dreams I’ve had ever since my parent’s demise. I’ve woken up screaming on many occasions.

At last Prim understands that I am determined to go to Panem. She asks me to stay until her child is born. The baby is due any day, but I worry that if I am here when the babe arrives, I will be tricked or trapped into staying. 

“I’m leaving in two weeks,” I tell my sister. I go to the train station and purchase a ticket. Then I write a letter to Peeta to tell him that I have accepted his proposal. I give him the date of my arrival so he can meet me at the Panem station. 

I spend the next two weeks packing my belongings, squeezing my clothing and all my keepsakes, including my bow and arrows and a special book my father made cataloguing plants into one bag and a large trunk. My nephew is born three days before I am scheduled to leave which gives me time to visit with the child, but also means my sister is unable to see me off. 

Rory takes me to the station and helps me get my bag and trunk to the porter who loads them onto the train. 

“Goodbye Katniss,” he tells me. “Be sure to write us once you get there.”

I nod, and climb aboard. I take a seat next to the window and wave at my brother-in-law as the train pulls away.

I sit back pondering my future. I am excited to be starting this new chapter in my life, although nervous to meet my betrothed.

Traveling on a train is interesting business. People get on and off at every stop. Some people may ride with you for the entire journey, others for only hours. The only person who stays in the train car with me the two days it takes to get to Wyoming is a paunchy, middle-aged man with graying hair. I think he is drunk most of the time. 

Consumption of alcohol is not allowed in the cars, but he leaves often to use the facilities and returns with his face red and his eyes bloodshot. He reeks of spirits. 

As for me, I have packed bread, and cheese, and fruit. A man comes through the car selling hot coffee and pastries. I purchase some coffee each day. I notice my drunken neighbor never does.

It is a rough journey on the tracks. The train bounces from side to side. It is difficult to sleep sitting up, especially if someone is seated next to me, but I survive.

However, when the train pulls into the station in Panem, I am tired and disheveled. I am embarrassed that Peeta will see me in such a condition. But then I remember his kind letters, which I have reread at least a hundred times over the course of this journey and I am reminded of what a kind and decent person he is. 

The porter carries my trunk off and sets it on the platform next to the bag I carried.

I leave my bag next to it and peek my head into the tiny station. Other than the stationmaster who stands behind the ticket counter, it’s empty. I suppose Peeta is late, or maybe he was already here and left because the train is late. I don’t have a watch so I can’t be sure. 

To my surprise my drunken companion has exited the train also. 

“Looking for someone sweetheart,” he says. It’s the first words he’s spoken in two days. 

I stare at him for a moment, before answering. “Peeta Mellark is meeting me here.”

The man nods. “His shop is right down the street. I’ll take you there in a minute.” He goes inside the station and leaves his bag behind the counter. “I’ll be right back Thom,” he says before returning to my side.

I am pleased at the friendliness of Panem. I pick up my bag and my fellow passenger drags my trunk. 

He doesn’t talk while we walk down the dirt street, likely because he’s sweating profusely.  
When we reach the bakery, he drops the trunk onto the ground. 

“Thank you Mr.,” I pause waiting for him to introduce himself. 

He stares at me for a moment and then answers, “ Abernathy, Haymitch Abernathy.”

“Thank you Mr. Abernathy.”

“Your welcome.” He hesitates a moment before continuing, “if you don’t mind me asking, how do you know Peeta?”

I smile nervously. “He is my fiancé.” 

Mr. Abernathy has a strange look on his face. “Does he know about it?”

“Of course,” I say, angrily. “He wrote a proposal letter to me.”

“Interesting,” the man says. “Well, good day.”

He leaves me in front of the bakery and I stand outside gathering up the courage to open the door and meet my husband-to-be. I put my hand in the pocket of my dress and touch Peeta’s letters once more for luck. Leaving my luggage in front of the bakery, I push the door open.

The bakery is small. It looks more like a storeroom than a bakeshop as it’s filled with sacks of flour and barrels of sugar. Baked goods sit on a shelf along the wall. There is a door open at the back and a man walks inside. He wears dark pants and a faded gingham shirt. He is average height with blonde hair. His eyes are bright blue and he is clean-shaven. He is surprisingly handsome, more so than I ever would have guessed. I think it will be easy to love him.

My heart is pounding. “Peeta, I thought you would meet me at the station.” 

A puzzled look crosses his face. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

He mustn’t have received my letter yet. Well, he’s certainly going to be surprised.

“It’s me, Katniss.”

I watch his face. It is clear from his expression that he has absolutely no idea who I am. What has happened? I put my hand to my head. I think I may faint. 

He stands staring at me, but rushes to my side as I start to fall sideways. He catches me and drags me over to a barrel to sit down.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes.” But all I can do is wonder who has played this awful trick on me. I feel like a fool. I pull the letters out of my pocket and hand them to him without saying a word.

He reads through them quickly. His face changes from bewilderment to anger. He rushes off with the letters out of the back door of the bakeshop. 

I take a few deep breaths and stand up. I brush off my skirt and walk out the back door, as well. Where has Peeta gone?

I hear shouting coming from the building next door.

It’s Peeta and I hear him plainly. “Delly, she’s not very big or particularly pretty. I am not marrying her.” 

 

Author’s Note: There was a shortage of single women in the western portion of the United States during the 19th century because most women who traveled west were married. After the U.S. Civil War ended in 1865, newspapers took on the role of matchmaking forums to bring these women west, and letters became the means of courtship. The transcontinental railroad, which was completed in 1869, played a role in bringing the couples together. 

In 1869 voting rights were granted to women in Wyoming Territory by the territorial legislature.


	2. Chapter 2

Eventually Peeta comes out of the structure. He seems surprised to see me standing in the yard. Maybe he thought I’d left by now after he insulted me so loudly. But I have nowhere to go. I don’t even have enough money to buy a return ticket to Omaha.

Everyone had said this was a mistake. They were right.

Peeta hands me back the letters. “I didn’t write these,” he explains. “My sister-in-law did.”

My heart pounds. I can’t believe this is happening.

I sway on my feet and Peeta reaches for my arm to steady me. He gives me a sad look and points in the direction of the two-story building. “Go in there. She can help you.”

He lets go of my arm, and I head toward the building that I now see is the back of The Panem Mercantile. A blonde-haired woman a few inches taller than me stands in the doorway. Her flowered cotton dress is stretched over her belly, which is twice as large as Prim’s ever was. 

“Are you Katniss?” 

“Yes.” I want to yell at her too, but I don’t because I can see her eyes are red-rimmed. 

“Come inside. I’m Delly.” 

I follow her into the kitchen. My eyes fly to the yellow and orange flowers that decorate the large wooden table at the center of the room. 

“Let me make you some tea.” She puts some wood into the cast iron stove to stir up the flame and sets the kettle on to boil. “Have a seat.”

I pull out one of the chairs around the table. She sits across from me. 

“I’m sorry,” she begins. “I didn’t know you were arriving so soon.”

“Didn’t you get my letter?”

She shakes her head. “No.”

It must have been lost in the mail.

The kettle screams. Delly gets up and puts loose tea into a flowered porcelain teapot that she has taken off a shelf. Then she pours hot water on top of it. She carries the teapot to the table to steep the tea. 

I sit and wait for an explanation. But Delly is silent. She rubs her hand back and forth over her protruding stomach as she stares frowning at the teapot. A couple of minutes later she announces it done. She pours a cup for me, and another for herself.

“We don’t have any milk,” she says. “Would you like some sugar?”

“No, thank-you.” 

“Peeta doesn’t like sugar in his tea either.” She gets up again to carry a sugar bowl to the table and puts a heaping spoonful into her own cup.

The tea leaves slowly sink to the bottom of my cup before I lift it to take a sip. It burns my mouth. I set it down quickly.

“How was your trip?” Delly asks. 

“Interesting. Mr. Abernathy was in my train car. Do you know him?”

“Yes.” She snorts loudly. “That must have been something.”

We exchange a quick smile when I remember about my luggage. 

“I left my bag and my trunk in front of the bakery.”

“My husband Rye can bring them inside.”

She stands up and leaves the room. I hear her talking softly, although I can’t make out the words. Then a man curses loudly. “Damn it all Delly. All right I’ll take care of it.”

A door slams and Delly returns to the kitchen. 

The time for small talk is over. I am about ready to burst. “Why did you write the letters?” 

She sits down and stares at her cup. She looks like she might cry again.

“I did it for Peeta,” she finally says, lifting her head. “There are no young women in this town.”

“It must be lonely for you.”

“It is,” she answers, and suddenly I understand why Delly wrote the letters. It wasn’t only for Peeta; it was for herself as well. She needs a friend. But I don’t say that to her.

“Does Peeta even want to get married?” 

“He said he did.” She lifts her cup to her lips and takes a sip.

If I wasn’t so disappointed, I might see the humor in this situation where Delly has played matchmaker. But I’m stunned. She’s made a fool of me. What will I do now?

Delly must see the look on my face. “Don’t give up. Peeta will come around.”

I shake my head. I may have been desperate to accept a marriage proposal from a man I’d never met in person, but I’m not completely hopeless. I won’t marry someone who thinks so poorly of me.

“You can stay with me and Rye,” Delly says.

For how long? I resign myself to returning to my sister’s home. Having to tell everyone I’ve been tricked. I see no other choice. Surely I can’t stay here in Panem as an unmarried woman.

“I need to find work,” I say. “For the train fare home.”

Even though she duped me, I don’t want to be beholden to this woman. I want to keep the upper hand in this relationship.

A fleeting look of pain crosses Delly’s face. 

My stomach sinks. I know that expression well. My sister made that very same face when she was in labor.

“Are you all right?” 

Delly nods. “I felt…” She lets out a sharp scream. “I’ve wet myself.”

“Your baby is coming.” 

She gives me a curious look. 

“My sister Prim gave birth before I left.”

Her smile is weak. “Good, then you can help me.”

I shake my head. I didn’t deliver my nephew, although I was in the room to hold Prim’s hand as the midwife took charge. I hardly know what to do.

Delly stands up groaning. A grimace sweeps across her face. She leans on the table and takes a deep breath.

“You should go to your bed.”

“Not yet,” Delly insists. 

“If you don’t go now, how will you climb the stairs when the pain gets worse?”

“It gets worse than this?” Delly pauses as if she is thinking it over. “Let me tell Rye.”

This time I follow her as she leaves the kitchen and walks into the large front room, which is the Mercantile.

A man stands behind the long wooden counter. He’s taller than Peeta, but has the same ash blonde hair. He turns to look at us. His eyes land on me as I stand beside his wife. “I put your things upstairs,” he says quickly.

Delly explains that the baby is coming. “Get Dr. Beetee. Katniss will stay here with me.”

“All right,” he answers. “Let me help you up the stairs first.” 

The couple goes into their bedroom just past the top of the stairs, and I follow. Delly sits on the edge of the bed and Rye kisses her temple. “I’ll be back soon.”

He frowns at me. “Take care of her.”

I nod, wondering at his annoyance. I am not responsible for the position in which I find myself. I am doing him and his wife a favor.

After he closes the door, Delly shows me where she keeps extra linens. She sits on a nearby wooden chair as I remove the patchwork quilt and prepare the bed to protect it from the untidiness of childbirth.

When I am done, I help Delly unbutton her dress and remove everything because she is in pain. She stops and catches her breath as the spasms rock her.

Finally she lies in bed. She wears only her chemise. A white sheet covers the lower part of her body.

A knock sounds. I am relieved that the doctor has arrived.

But when I open the door, Peeta stands there. He’s rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you need any help?” 

I want him to go away, but I do need some things. Childbirth can be quite messy. “Bring me a bucket of warm water and some clean rags.” 

“Okay.” Relief crosses his face. He closes the door behind him. I suspect he’s glad to be clear of the labor room.

Delly moans loudly. “The baby’s coming now.”

Not likely I think. But when I pull back the sheet to humor her, I’m astounded to see the top of a baby’s head peeking out from beneath her spread legs. Prim was in agony for many hours before the child got this far along.

“Push,” I say, remembering the midwife’s words.

Delly bends her legs and pulls them up, fixing an arm over each knee to hold it tight. Her face scrunches up and turns bright red as she grunts loudly. I put my hand up to catch the tiny babe as his head passes from her body. Propping the head up, I wait until she pushes once again and then I am able to pull him completely out. Delly has set a pocketknife on the nightstand next to the bed. She hands it to me to cut the cord that still connects the child to her body. 

He is slick with a coating of what looks like bacon grease. He lets out a short squall. 

A sense of euphoria washes over me. Two people came into this room and now a third is present. I am as happy as if I’d given birth myself. 

I cradle him in my arms and look to Delly. “You have a son.”

Delly beams, wiping the sweat from her forehead. 

Another knock.

Pulling up the sheet, I cover Delly. “Come in,” I call out, thinking that the doctor has arrived too late.

But it is Peeta again. He holds a bucket in one hand and a heap of rags in the other. His eyes are round as saucers as he stares at me holding the naked babe. 

“You’re an uncle Peeta,” Delly says, joyfully.

Peeta breaks into a broad grin. He looks so handsome at that moment that I can hardly stand it. A stabbing sensation pierces my heart as I think about the future I’ve lost. But then I remember that I never really had Peeta in the first place. The letters weren’t real. 

 

Author’s Note: The cost of a one-way, third class train ticket (emigrant-class bench seats) from New York to San Francisco in 1870 was $65. A one-way, first class ticket in a Pullman sleeping car cost $136.


	3. Chapter 3

Peeta sets the bucket on the floor and the rags on a nearby chair. He pulls out the biggest one and comes closer, attempting to wrap the slippery infant while he’s resting in my arms. It’s an awkward maneuver. I nearly drop the babe in the process, and end up shoving him into Peeta’s arms. 

He holds the child, rocking him for a few minutes. His gentleness surprises me. It’s plain to see he’ll be a fine father someday.

He kisses his nephew’s forehead before handing him over to Delly and leaving the room. 

Eventually I get everything righted. Delly rests on fresh bedding. She wears a dressing gown, and holds her son who has been wiped clean of his waxy coating and diapered. He nurses from his mother’s ample breasts. 

I am hot, drenched in perspiration, and desperately in need of a bath. 

Distracted as she is, Delly notices my plight and tells me to leave. “Rye put your things in the room down the hall. You can clean up.” 

Leaving the door open in case she needs assistance, I go down the hall. The spare room is small. It has a bed covered with a patchwork quilt, a nightstand, and a wooden chair. Hooks hang along one wall for clothing. My bag sits on the floor next to my trunk. 

I carry the bucket downstairs, empty the dirty water outside, and refill it with fresh water from a covered barrel that sits in the kitchen. I bring it upstairs to my room so I can wash. 

My dress is dirty as well, sprayed by the body fluids of attending a birth. I strip, wash up, and put on a clean dress. It’s wrinkled, but I feel fresh. I redo my hair, which has not been touched in days, and is in a terrible state.

Although I do not know how long I will be here, I unpack my bag and hang my gowns on the hooks to shake out the wrinkles.

After checking in with Delly, I go downstairs. I’m an awful cook, but I am hungry and assume Delly is as well. Someone will need to make dinner in this house. 

However when I get to the kitchen, Peeta has already taken charge. A heavenly smell fills the air. There are platters of food already set on the table, boiled potatoes, a green salad, thick slices of brown bread and a big slab of butter. 

He is pulling a pan of roasted beef from the oven when I enter.

I clear my throat so he won’t startle at my arrival. “I’ll make a plate for Delly.”

His eyes flit up my form and stop at my face as he takes in my tidy appearance. He gives me a small smile, pulls a plate from the shelf and hands it to me. “All right.”

I wish I could eat my meal with Delly and stay away from Peeta. But after bringing a plate up to her, I return to the kitchen to find that Peeta has waited for me and has not yet begun to eat.

We sit across from each other at the table. We both keep our faces down and focus on our food, but after a few minutes of silence he speaks. 

“Katniss, I didn’t know about the letters. I’m sorry.”

He catches my eyes as I lift my head. I see sympathy in them, or maybe it’s pity. Quickly I look back down at my plate. 

An awkward silence follows as we resume eating. “How far away does the doctor live?” I blurt out in an attempt to dissolve the tension in the room. It’s a fair question. Rye has been gone for over three hours. His son has already been born and fed. 

“Dr. Beetee is an hour away by horseback.”

I think how lucky they are that I arrived today. 

We are finishing up when we hear the sound of boots on the porch outside. The front door to the Mercantile bangs opens and Peeta springs to his feet and leaves me at the table. I hear him tell his brother that Delly has already given birth. There is a sound of quick footsteps on the stairs. I am alone in the kitchen for several minutes before Peeta and another man with dark hair and spectacles enter. 

“This is Katniss,” Peeta tells the man. 

“Hello, I’m Dr. Beetee.” I stand to greet him, and he shakes my hand. “That was a remarkably quick birth. Have you much experience delivering babies?”

“None. But my sister had a son a few weeks ago and I was present at the delivery.”

“Well, it’s good you were here.” He looks at me curiously. “Are you kin to Delly?”

I shake my head, wondering how I should describe our relationship to the doctor. But I don’t have to because Peeta answers for me. 

“She is Delly’s pen pal.”

The words may be true, but coming from Peeta’s mouth makes them all the more cutting. I excuse myself from the table to return to my room. 

Rye stands at the top of the stairs, grinning deliriously. He reaches for my hands, pulls them together and squeezes them.

“Thank you so much,” he gushes. “It’s a miracle that you arrived today.” 

I nod politely and ask him about the train schedule.

He lets go of my hands to run his fingers through his hair. “I’m not sure. But you can’t leave now. Please stay. I’ll pay you. I need help in the house and the store with Delly laid up.” 

I bite my lip. I have no choice. I need money to buy a return ticket. But I don’t tell him that. 

“I’ll think it over,” I say before returning to my room. 

Lying on the bed, which smells comfortingly of cinnamon and dill, I consider my plight. The elation of delivering Delly’s son has faded, leaving me with a surplus of sour feelings. Anger that I was lured to Wyoming under false pretenses. Sadness that the fairy-tale I’d concocted about a marriage to Peeta is not to be. Frustration that I’m stuck here until I can raise the funds to return to my sister’s home. Humiliation at Peeta’s insults about my appearance. All my life I have been compared to my fair-haired sister and have been found lacking. I guess it’s true.

Too heartsick to even weep, I curl up and fall asleep thinking how different this day would have been if Peeta had written those letters instead of Delly.

After my first solid night’s sleep in days, likely because I’m too exhausted to even dream, I wake up resolved to see this situation through. I refuse to cry about it. I wipe my face clean of emotions and tell Rye that I’ll work for him until Delly is able to resume her regular duties. I assume it will be a couple of weeks, a month at most until she is able to get back to her usual routine. 

I write a short note to Prim to tell her I’ve arrived safely and that Delly has given birth, but no other detail. I’m too ashamed.

The days quickly fall into a pattern. I awake to find warm bread with marmalade and tea on the kitchen table every morning. I eat quickly before making up a plate for Delly. Usually I hold her boy William, while she eats. He is pale with fine, scraggly hair and bright blue eyes. I hand him back when she is done. Delly latches him to her breast, and then assigns my tasks for the day. Laundry. House cleaning. Helping Rye in the store. 

Never cooking. Peeta is in charge of the kitchen.

I want to be angry with someone for my predicament. Delly is my obvious target. But it is impossible to stay enraged with her because she’s so genuinely friendly, and right now I desperately need a friend.

In the evenings after dinner with Rye and Peeta, I spend my time with Delly. She sits in bed nursing her son, whose appetite seems insatiable, while I read to her from Godey’s Lady’s Book. The magazine is filled with all sorts of articles. We spend much time discussing each of them. While I enjoy the practical tips, like the best ways to run a household, Delly favors the made-up stories about love. I think Delly is a romantic. 

“How did you meet Rye?” I ask after reading a tale that leaves her mooney-eyed.

“He was one of the workers on the Union Pacific railroad alongside my father.” She explains that the railroad workers would form a temporary town. But the progress of laying the tracks for the railroad was so fast that towns moved every few weeks. Everything would be packed on a freight car and transported fifty or sixty miles to the end of the track.

“I stayed behind with a few others when everyone left Panem,” she explained. “My father was dying.” She says that she and Rye were merely acquaintances. “But after a few weeks he came back because he missed me. He said he couldn’t stop thinking about me.

“That is why you must stay in Panem,” she implores. “Peeta will grow to love you just like Rye came to love me.”

“He won’t,” I protest. “I heard what Peeta said about me when I arrived. He called me…”

“No Katniss,” Delly interrupts before I can repeat the insults. “He was angry with me, not you. I was going to tell him everything before you arrived, but I never received your last letter.”

I am sure Delly is wrong about Peeta but I don’t argue with her. I’m too proud to ask her how Peeta even ended up in Panem, but she volunteers the information. “Peeta joined us last year after Rye and I married. Their mother had died and Peeta had no reason to stay in Illinois with his older brother inheriting the family bakery.”

The next evening, Rye complains to Peeta over the meal. “Not beans and bread again.” 

“I haven’t had time to go hunting,” Peeta says.

Usually I stay quiet during these meals, while the two brothers discuss the latest happenings in Panem, but I can’t help myself. “I can go hunting tomorrow.”

Both look at me like I’m crazy. 

“Did you bring a gun?” Rye asks curiously.

“No, but I brought my bow and arrows.”

Rye laughs heartily. Peeta attempts to suppress a grin. My cheeks turn pink and I push my dinner plate away. 

“Katniss,” Rye calls as I storm out of the room and rush up the stairs. But I ignore his comments.

I am so angry that I don’t even visit Delly. I go straight to my room and fume.

The next morning I wake while it is still dark. I dress by candlelight and sneak out of the house, my game bag and quiver slung over my shoulder, my bow in my hand. 

The air is chill as I make my way down the tiny main street of Panem. I have not seen anything of this small town ever since I arrived a week earlier. I have been tied to the house and the Mercantile. 

In my haste to meet Peeta, I paid scant attention to the surroundings. Now I see that the town is very small. Nothing like Omaha with its population of 16,000.

Crossing the tracks beyond the train station, I walk a short distance, and then stand very still waiting for the landscape to come alive. It isn’t long before a jackrabbit hops past. I ready my arrow and shoot the creature cleanly through the eye. Within a short time, I have shot two more. 

It is light now. I hear a rooster crow and birds chatter as I return to the Mercantile. I enter the back door. Peeta is kneading dough at the table. 

I pull one of the jackrabbits from my game bag and hold it up proudly. “I got some meat for dinner.”

He startles at my voice. He lifts his head, his eyes wide in astonishment as he takes in the jackrabbit, and my bow and quiver of arrows. 

He walks closer to inspect my kill.

“You got it right through the eye.” He is surprised.

“I have two more just like it.”

His eyebrows rise. 

“If you have a knife, I can skin and gut them.” I plan to save the fur to make something for Baby William.

He hands me a carving knife from the shelf. I carry my catch outside. It will be messy and I do not want to dirty the kitchen where Peeta holds court.

When I return with the meat, warm bread is sitting on the table. Peeta is seated and drinking tea.

I wrap the meat in a clean cloth and put it on the counter. 

“I’ll set it to roast for our dinner,” Peeta says. He gives me a lopsided grin, and a look that immediately reminds me of the way Gale stared at me years ago. 

Instead of being pleased at this turn of events, though, I’m angry. It may be childish, but Peeta hurt me and I want to wound him back. I conceive a plan, something that might come straight from a fanciful tale in Godey’s Lady’s Book -- I will allow Peeta to fall in love with me, and then I’ll break his heart so he’ll know exactly how it feels.

 

Author’s Note: Godey’s Lady’s Book was a popular woman’s monthly magazine that was published from 1830 to 1898. The publication featured short fiction stories, poetry, and fashion illustrations. It also included interesting facts as fillers.   
Census records for Wyoming Territory in 1870 indicate a population of only 9,118. For every woman over the age of 21, there were six men.


	4. Chapter 4

My plan has two parts. And the second part depends on the success of the first – Peeta has to fall in love with me. But I have no idea where to start because I am completely inexperienced in these matters. No man, other than my father, has ever loved me. I pushed Gale away as soon as I saw an inkling of interest.

However, Godey’s Lady’s Book is chock full of advice. The writers of the sentimental stories note that men are attracted to women with a neat appearance, a gentle demeanor, and a kind nature. Unfortunately those words do not describe me. I can at best be called sturdy, practical, and hard-working. 

But before I can even attempt to alter my entire temperament, my plan goes astray. Apparently my natural charms are greater than I know. 

“Rye says the customers are asking about you,” Delly says.

“Why?” I am bewildered.

“I told you there are no young, unmarried women in town.” She grins. “This will make Peeta jealous.”

I hadn’t considered that aspect at all. But if jealousy draws Peeta closer, I am all for it because I’m starting to think that I was completely mistaken about his interest in me. That glimmer I saw days ago must have been a twist of light in his eyes because while Peeta is decidedly friendlier, he does not act like any of the smitten lovers in the stories I read to Delly. 

“Hello Finnick,” Rye calls while I am restocking the shelves before noon the next day. The previous day’s train had brought a new supply of goods that must be displayed.

“Who is this?” I hear a voice say and I turn to look. Standing in front of me is the most extraordinarily handsome man I have ever seen. He is tall with golden skin, bronze-colored hair, and sea green eyes. He wears a fine suit.

He walks closer, so close that his eyes are only inches from mine. A perfumed scent hangs in the air.

“Finnick, leave Katniss alone,” Rye chides. “You’re interfering with her work.”

Finnick laughs, his breath warm on my skin. Then he takes a step back.

“Rye, I’m surprised Delly would let you hire someone so pretty,” he purrs.

I blush at his compliment, waiting for Rye to explain exactly how I ended up in Panem. But he doesn’t. I guess it’s because it would make his wife look foolish.

“She’s a friend of Delly’s,” he finally offers.

“Well very nice to meet you Katniss. I’m Finnick Odair.” He reaches for my hand and lifts it to his lips to kiss. 

I keep my composure, but I am embarrassed at his dramatic gesture.

Rye snorts. “Always the ladies man Odair.”

The Mercantile door swings open and Peeta interrupts the conversation. He asks Rye if he can borrow me to watch the bakery while he makes some deliveries. 

It’s curious because he’s never asked for my help before. 

“Okay,” Rye agrees.

Finnick tips his head to me and I smile back at him, secretly noting that Peeta scowls at Finnick’s actions.

I follow Peeta out the front door of the Mercantile and into the bakeshop. 

Again, I’m surprised at the bakery’s interior. It doesn’t look anything like the bakeries at home with their wooden counter and display tables. “Why don’t you have a counter like the Mercantile?” I ask Peeta.

Now that I think about it, I have never seen customers coming and going from this store. I’ve only seen Peeta standing in the yard kneading dough at the table and pulling pans out of the oven. Not that I’m keeping watch over him or anything.

He rubs his hand across his jaw. “I supply the baked goods for the railroad. They sell it to the passengers. The rest goes to the restaurant next to the train station.”

“I remember a man selling pastries on the train,” I say. “I didn’t buy any, but they looked tasty. But so is your bread.”

Peeta breaks into a smile and I realize that he is pleased by my honest compliment.

“Thanks. I like your jackrabbits, too.” 

I grin back. I’d already gone hunting a second time mainly because I needed more fur to make a pillow for Baby Will.

Peeta pulls out his pocket watch and hands it to me. “I just put a few loaves in the oven,” he says. “Would you take them out in ten minutes? I’ll be back soon.” He walks off with a wooden crate covered with a large cloth. 

I go out the back door of the bakery and sit on a chair close to the oven. I open the golden cover of Peeta’s watch, which features a striking bird with its wings outspread, and look at the time so I can tell when ten minutes will be up. 

If the letters from Peeta had been real, this would have been my life. Helping Peeta in the bakery. Likely learning to bake. Taking care of the ovens to be sure nothing burned while my husband was off delivering his goods. I sigh. It could have been a good life. For just a few moments I reconsider my plan.  
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Finnick visits the Mercantile everyday. He always greets me and has something amusing to say. I think he makes excuses to see me. Who needs to buy that many pencils?

I mention his frequent visits to Delly. She tells me he is wealthy. That he worked with Rye building the railroad. After it was completed, Finnick struck it rich when he found gold near South Pass. 

“He would be a fine catch,” she says. “He’s building a big house outside of town.”

I shake my head and remind her that I only agreed to stay in Panem until she can resume her regular routine. 

“No, Katniss. You must stay,” she insists. “There are other men in town besides Peeta.”

I suppose she imagines I’ve set my cap for Peeta and in a way I have, although not for the reasons she thinks.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Several days later I am in the kitchen boiling water to wash Baby Willie’s diapers when Rye calls me into the store after he’s opened for business. 

“I found this on the floor near to the door.” He hands me a paper folded in half with my name written on the front of it.

I shove it in my apron pocket because I’m busy. I plan to look at it while the diapers dry on the clothesline. 

But I forget. I don’t remember about the note until I am reading Delly one of her romantic stories that evening. I reach into my apron to feel the paper. I think about showing it to her, but I don’t.

Instead I sit on my bed and unfold the sheet. It is a letter written in a cursive script with beautiful loops and scrolls.

 

Dearest Katniss, 

You have no idea of the effect you have had on me ever since we met. I spend most of my day thinking about you and when I fall asleep I dream only of you. 

Your Admirer

 

I am stunned by the intent behind these words. Judging by the flowery language, I am sure Finnick wrote it. His flirtations are the most direct of any man I know. Is his daily purchase of a pencil a hint that he is using them to write me this love note? 

I am tempted to return to Delly’s room and seek her opinion. But it’s late and I suspect Rye may have retired already.

I can hardly sleep that night. Long ago, I pushed Gale away because I was young and romantic, wanting to replicate the fierce love I saw my parents share. It was clear to me that I could never see Gale as a lover. We were so similar in temperament that he was like a brother. After my parents died though, I came to see the practicality of marriage. I regretted my hasty dismissal of Gale. But it was too late. He had moved on. I knew then that I couldn’t afford to be picky if opportunity arose again. That is why I was so willing to come to Panem and marry Peeta, someone who I’d never even met. 

But Delly and her sentimental stories have filled my head with all sorts of romantic notions. She has turned me into a starry-eyed dreamer once more. If I am to marry I want it to be for love; I’m not going to settle for a marriage of convenience. 

However despite his wealth and fine looks, I could never marry Finnick Odair. Even though he looks and acts like a character straight out of a romance story, I have no attraction to him in the least. His features are too perfect. And his daily flirtations and excessive compliments are strangely disturbing to me. 

More than once I’ve wished Peeta would come into the Mercantile to rescue me from Finnick’s romantic advances. On one occasion, I even made an excuse and left the Mercantile in mid-conversation with Finnick to seek sanctuary in the bakery. 

A couple of days later I find another letter sitting on the floor when I help Rye open the store. I pick it up before Rye notices and shove it in my apron pocket. It is a busy morning and fortunately Finnick does not show his face. I am beyond grateful. 

Peeta comes by and asks his brother if I can watch the bakery for him again. I’ve done it several times now. After some pleasant conversation, he places his gold watch in my palm like always. 

Once he leaves, I position myself in the chair close to the oven and pull out the letter from my pocket to read. It’s a second note in the same hand.

 

Dearest Katniss, 

How can I describe you? Radiant as the sun. You are perfect in every way. You have caught my heart in your snare.

Your Admirer

 

My heart sinks. I glance at the Peeta’s watch and see that minutes have passed while I have been lost in thought. I remove the bread from the oven and set it on a shelf inside the bakeshop to cool.

I read the letter one more time then shove it back into my pocket. I am extremely uneasy. It has never been my intention to lead Finnick on. My eyes roam around Peeta’s work area as I await his return. A trunk sits in the corner, with some of his clothes folded over it. His bedroll lies propped against a sack of flour. 

A sketchbook rests atop the sack. Curious, I pick it up and open it. 

I remember that Peeta liked to sketch. Delly wrote about it in the letters. But I am astounded at the detail in his drawings. The landscapes are so vivid. His talent suggests an entire world locked away in him. 

I’m studying the sketch of a small bird sitting in the branch of a pine tree when Peeta returns. He clears his throat and I quickly flip his book shut and set it back onto the sack. 

I lift my head to meet his eyes, embarrassed about snooping.

He doesn’t say anything though. Instead he gives me a smile that seems so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness that unexpected warmth rushes through me.

I am so flustered by this turn of events that I thrust the pocket watch into his hands and rush past him.

I spend the afternoon dusting shelves in the Mercantile feeling wretched. I planned for Peeta to fall in love with me so I could break his heart. But how can I break it when I find myself falling for him instead?

 

Author’s Note: Gold was first discovered in the vicinity of South Pass City in Wyoming Territory in 1866 and mined there for over a decade.  
Pocket watches have been in use since the 16th century. The rise in railroading during the last half of the 19th century led to the widespread use of pocket watches in the United States. Railroad officials were especially interested in accurate timekeeping to ensure that two trains would not be on the same stretch of track at the same time.


	5. Chapter 5

“How are you feeling?” I ask Delly.

Little Wills is one month old and she still lies abed. It’s time she returns to her normal duties, although it means I must face my future. I cannot stay in Panem. I am attracted to Peeta who thinks of me only as a friend, and energetically wooed by Finnick for whom I do not care.

“Better, but not quite there yet,” she replies. 

I am suspicious of Delly. I return from organizing shelves in the Mercantile to find floors swept, brass polished, dishes washed. I think she sneaks from her bed to accomplish these tasks and then returns to play the weakling.

I still haven’t told her about the letters Finnick has sent because I know she will prattle at length about what a fine husband he would make, and I’m not interested. 

Rye pays me regularly for my work and in a few days I will have enough to return to my sister’s home.

Under the guise of taking a short walk, I sneak down to the train station one day to ask about a ticket. Mr. Abernathy stands behind the counter.

“Do you work here?” I am surprised to see him. He appears sober.

“I’m the stationmaster.”

“But you were on the train with me.”

He snorts. “Even stationmasters ride the rails sometimes.” He asks me if I’m here with a message from Peeta about his bread delivery.

“No. I’m inquiring about the cost of a ticket back to Omaha.”

He is astounded. “But why are you leaving? I thought you came here to get married.”

I roll my eyes at him. “It was a misunderstanding.”

He shakes his head. “I heard about what Delly did.”

My cheeks flush even though I remind myself that I am not at fault. 

Mr. Abernathy answers my questions about the cost of a ticket and tells me there is no need to purchase it in advance. “Just show up and buy it the day you plan to go.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

News travels swiftly in Panem. That evening Delly asks if I’ve purchased a train ticket to Omaha.

I can’t figure out how she heard of my visit to the station, yet she already knows. “Please don’t go Katniss,” she begs. “We still need your help.”

The next morning a third letter appears. It is wedged into the doorframe of the Mercantile. It falls onto the ground when Rye opens the shop. He picks it up, glances at the name on front, and hands it to me. I shove it into my pocket and get to work. 

I don’t look at the letter until later when I watch Peeta’s shop. The words are printed, not written in the beautiful script of the previous letters. There is no signature of “Your Admirer” at the bottom either. The writer must have been in a hurry.

 

Dear Katniss,

You have captured my heart. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. My only hope is that you feel the same about me. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? Meet me behind the train station at 11:45 a.m. tomorrow to give me your answer.

 

I groan. I will have to face Finnick and refuse his offer. Because surely it must be Finnick who has written me these tender letters. I suppose he’s heard I’m planning to leave Panem and he wants to stop me.

I am in such a state of anxiety when Peeta returns that he asks if something is wrong. “You look pale,” he says, the concern evident in his voice.

“It’s nothing.” But I am overwrought.

Finnick visits the Mercantile right before closing to purchase yet another pencil. He speaks so sweetly to me, says he will see me tomorrow, and then winks. I give him a sickly smile in return, but I am dreading the next day when I will have to turn him down to his face. I suspect that Finnick will argue when I refuse his offer.

I can hardly eat dinner. As I read to Delly that evening I think that my life has come to resemble a story from Godey’s Lady’s Book. Not a story with a happily-ever-after ending, but one of the sad few that ends with a bitter twist. As I finish reading aloud a happy tale about a woman that found love in a gold mining camp in California, I close the magazine and turn to Delly.

“Was I the only one who answered your newspaper ad?”

Delly shakes her head. “No, there were other letters.”

“Why did you respond to mine?”

Delly sighs. “None of the others were right. The women were too old, or too young, or had children, or were too priggish and proper to be happy here in Wyoming. From your description, I could tell that you would fit in here. Peeta would fall head over heels for you.” 

Well that is where you are mistaken, I think. The wrong man has fallen head over heels for me. I hope she saved those letters she received. Perhaps she can convince another woman to sign up as Peeta’s fiancée after I go.

I lie awake in my bed unable to sleep. Finally I drift off but my dreams are plagued by nightmares. I am tortured by memories of my parents’ deaths.

My head aches when I get up. Dark circles hang under my eyes. Delly takes one look at me when I bring her breakfast and suggests I return to bed.

“Are you sick?” she says.

I shake my head. “I’m fine. I didn’t sleep well.” 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I watch the time carefully that morning. At 11:40 a.m., I tell Rye that I need to take a break. 

He nods and I dart out the door in the direction of the station. My heart is pounding. I walk around to the back of the building close to the tracks. It’s empty.

I wonder when Finnick will arrive. I sit on the bench and stare at the land beyond the tracks where I have hunted jackrabbits. I like this tree-filled land with it backdrop of mountains. I will miss Panem when I go.

As I sit in the warm sun with my back leaning against the bench I close my eyes for only a moment. I startle when my name is called.

“What are you doing here?” Peeta asks. He is holding his delivery crate.

I blink several times, trying to remember why I am sitting on a bench sleeping in the middle of the day. 

“What time is it?” I ask, mortified that Peeta has found me here.

A curious look crosses his face, but he pulls his watch out of his pocket and flips open the lid. “It’s half past noon.”

I’ve dozed off for forty-five minutes. Did Finnick come and go already?

I jump to my feet. “I should get back. Rye will be wondering where I am.”

“Don’t worry about my brother. He can take care of the store himself. Are you hungry?”

I’m ready to say “no” when my stomach gives a loud gurgle. I’m embarrassed by body’s response.

But Peeta takes it in stride. “That sounds like a definite yes,” he teases. He lowers his crate. “I have one loaf left.”

My mouth waters. 

“Let’s eat in the shade. It’s too hot back here.”

I follow Peeta over the train tracks through the meadow of sagebrush and to a line of pine trees, whose small canopy provides a covering. He pulls the loaf of bread out and turns the crate over for me to sit on. He sits on a nearby tree stump. He pulls off a chunk of the dense bread filled with raisins and nuts and hands it to me. It’s still warm.

Neither of us speaks; instead we concentrate on our food. I can’t understand why Finnick didn’t show. Maybe he was late. Maybe he’s even looking for me now. I glance toward the station but no one’s there.

I want to ask Peeta if he saw anyone when he made his delivery but I don’t want to tell him why I was waiting. I’m grateful he hasn’t questioned me further.

He finishes his bread before me, takes a deep breath, and speaks. “Look Katniss, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about what happened when you arrived at the bakery that first day.” 

His cheeks turn pink. “I was angry with Delly because of the letters, and for other things as well. I was insulting and, well, plain rude to you. I hope you can forgive me. You’ve been so amiable in the way you’ve handled this entire situation. Much better than me.”

My face burns as I think of my ill-considered plan to get even with Peeta, but he continues. “I value our friendship and I feel terrible that I’ve likely offended you.” 

Friends. I want so much more than that but apparently Peeta doesn’t.

“Will you forgive me?” he asks, an earnest plea in his voice.

His apology takes me by surprise. I am even more puzzled as to why he is bringing this up now. But I expect he knows I’ll be leaving soon and he wants me to think kindly of him when I go.

“Okay.” I answer.

We walk back to town together and I return to the Mercantile. My afternoon is consumed with thoughts about my suitor who failed to appear. Ironically Finnick stays away.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Delly is grinning when I go upstairs after dinner. “The newest edition of Godey’s Lady’s Book arrived,” she says, excitedly. She waves the magazine in front of me. 

I smile at her happiness. Despite the situation she put me in, I have will miss our evenings together.

I turn to the first story in the magazine. It is about a woman who falls in love with a sea captain. She receives a letter from her beau. He writes: you have captured my heart. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. My only hope is that you feel the same way about me. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?

The story ends tragically as his ship is lost at sea and the woman spends the remainder of her life pining for her lost love. Delly wipes tears from her eyes, but my mind is reeling. The words of that letter are the exact same as those in the letter wedged in the doorframe of the Mercantile yesterday morning.

I am being toyed with yet again.

 

Author’s Note: There wasn’t much food sold on trains in the early years of train travel. Vendors sold sandwiches at some stations. Some stations had attached restaurants, but stops were short. Many passengers supplied their own food for the journey. Dining cars were introduced on some routes in the late 1860s, but they were expensive to build and operate. By the 1880s they became more common, however, and increasingly elegant.


	6. Chapter 6

Delly unlatches a drowsy Wiggleworm Will from her breast and hands him to me to set in his cradle. 

As soon as he is down, I turn and whisper to her. “When did you get this magazine?” My tone is sharp and a puzzled look appears on her face.

“Rye gave it to me before dinner. He said it came on today’s train.”

My eyes narrow. The captain’s words in the story are an exact replica of the letter I received. It has to be more than a coincidence. I pull my latest proposal letter from my pocket. 

“This note was wedged in the doorframe of the Mercantile yesterday.”

She reads it and her eyes light up. “Oh Katniss, this is so romantic.”

“Compare the words.” I hold the magazine open to her.

Her eyes flit back back and forth between the two. “They are the same.”

“Did you write it Delly?”

Her eyes open wide. “I swear Katniss, I didn’t write this.” She studies the paper. “I don’t recognize this hand either.”

Wrinkles form on her forehead as she frowns. “You said this letter arrived yesterday. Did you go to the train station today to meet up with this gentleman?”

My cheeks grow warm. “I did, but he never showed up. Then I fell asleep. Peeta found me when he was making his delivery.”

She shakes her head and bites her lower lip. She starts to say something, but Rye knocks and enters the room. 

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” Delly says. She gives me an encouraging smile and I hope she means to keep this matter secret from her husband. I am already embarrassed.

I return to my room to puzzle this mystery. Did the same person write all three letters? Could there be more than one man interested in me? I am so confused. But my lack of sleep from the previous evening prevents me from giving it too much thought. As soon as I lay my head down, tiredness overwhelms me and I fall asleep quickly.

The next morning I wake up determined to find out the identity of the person or persons that is writing to me. I shove the proposal letter into my pocket. 

I hear conversation as I go downstairs for breakfast. I can’t make out the words but Peeta says my name just before I enter the room. But he stops speaking as soon as he catches sight of me. Surprisingly I see that he is conversing with Delly, who has her back to me at the table. 

After a moment of awkward tension, I wish them “good morning.”

Delly turns to face me. She is dressed for a day of work. I am glad to see she is finally up. After more than a month in bed, she should be.

“I was just telling Peeta about that letter you showed me last night,” Delly says. 

I give her a black look. Why would she tell Peeta? 

Peeta shifts in his seat. He looks about as uncomfortable as I feel right now. I immediately wonder if he knows more about the letter than what Delly has mentioned. Is Peeta in league with Finnick? Was his comment about us being friends a way to steer me in Finnick’s direction?

“Can you get the letter?” she asks. “Maybe Peeta will recognize the writing?”

Scowling, I reach into my pocket, pull it out, and hand it to him. 

Peeta unfolds the letter and reads it silently. I study his face, remembering how he looked when I gave him the letters Delly wrote when I first arrived in Panem. His reaction is similar. His expression changes from bewilderment to anger in a few seconds.

He tosses the letter onto the table and springs up. “I have to go.”

“Do you know who wrote it?” Delly calls, as Peeta rushes out of the kitchen.

But he doesn’t answer.

“Oh, Katniss, he’s so jealous.” Delly chirps.

I don’t understand Peeta’s reaction, but I know Delly is wrong. Peeta only wants to be my friend.

Today Delly and I do laundry. We hang diapers on the clothesline that is located on the side of the house near to the bakery. Peeta makes more noise than usual, slamming baking pans around.

Delly’s grins. “He’s upset,” she whispers.

It must be distress over another matter. 

When we are done, I help Rye in the Mercantile. 

“Where were you yesterday afternoon?” Finnick purrs in my ear. I nearly drop the can I was setting onto a shelf. “I stopped by to purchase a pencil and Rye said you were out.”

I am shocked by his words because it occurs to me that if Finnick had written that proposal letter, he would know exactly where I had been – waiting behind the train station. But if it wasn’t Finnick, then who was it? 

From his reaction this morning, I suspect Peeta knows who wrote it. I linger at the dinner table that evening until Rye and Delly leave the room. Peeta has been quiet at this meal, barely glancing my way. 

In my most sociable tone I ask him about the hand that penned the letter I showed him this morning. 

He is quiet for a moment, and then answers. “Haymitch Abernathy.”

The drunken stationmaster has proposed marriage to me? I am flabbergasted. He must have copied the words directly from Delly’s copy of Godey’s Lady’s Book when the train dropped off the mail. Did he write the other letters, too?

“I never would have guessed.”

A playful smile forms on Peeta’s lips. “I take it you’re not interested in a marriage proposal from Haymitch.”

“No. I though it was written by someone else,” I blurt out. 

“Who?” Peeta’s expression changes. He looks serious now. 

I immediately wish I hadn’t said anything. “Never mind.”

“Who Katniss?” He is insistent.

I don’t want to answer him, but he has caught my eyes and I feel trapped in those blue orbs.  
“Finnick Odair,” I whisper.

He sighs loudly. “Finnick. Of course.” He stands up quickly and goes out.

I know it’s time for me to take leave of this town. Rye has just paid me and I have more than enough to purchase a train ticket. Delly is ready to take charge of her home and help in the business again. I’m no longer needed. Despite Delly’s high expectations, if a middle-aged drunk is my best hope for a marriage in Panem, I think it’s best I return to my sister’s house. 

Climbing the stairs to Delly’s room, I devise my getaway. I do not tell her this will be our last night together. She will only try to talk me out of my plan. I read to her knowing I will miss our time together and the friendship we have developed. I kiss Wiggley Will, breathing in his sweet baby scent, memorizing it for all time.

I pack my belongings. I will not be able to take my trunk. But when I get home, I’ll borrow money from Prim and mail it to Delly so she can ship the trunk to me. I stay up past midnight writing a letter to Delly and Rye. Although I was tricked into coming to Wyoming, the experience of traveling to another place and taking care of myself has made me a stronger person. Despite my initial anger when I first arrived, I have made some fine memories here. 

I consider writing a separate letter to Peeta, but I decide against it. It is not easy for me to walk away from him. But my heart wants more than he is able to give. I could never stay in Panem and watch my friend marry some other woman because surely with his genial nature and handsome appearance he will find a wife one day.

I get up before it is light and sneak out with my bag. I hide it behind a grouping of sagebrush at the back of the train station. This will make it easier for me to leave undetected. I return to my room and put my goodbye letter on top of the trunk. They will find it when I am gone. I keep the money is in my pocket so I can buy my ticket and some food on the train.

The eastbound train does not leave until mid-afternoon. I go through the morning pretending as if it was a normal day. Peeta is silent at breakfast. Delly joins us and she and Rye bicker about a customer who Rye has allowed to run a tab in the Mercantile. Delly is convinced the man will skip town and not pay his bill. The argument halts when the baby cries loudly and Delly rushes upstairs to soothe him.

I panic momentarily when Delly insists we strip the beds and launder the sheets. I fear she will enter my room and see the letter, but I offer to strip both beds while she boils the water and sets up the washtub. 

While we work she speculates over who could have written the marriage proposal to me. I don’t tell her what Peeta told me. I don’t tell her about the other letters either. My heart is sick over this entire matter. I will be glad to be rid of this place and this dilemma. 

Peeta asks Delly to watch his shop at midday while he makes his deliveries. She brings her son with her. I go into the Mercantile to help Rye, but not before stopping in the kitchen for a bite to eat. I will need to purchase food on the train during this trip so I want to start my journey on a full stomach.

I help Rye until Delly returns. The baby sleeps soundly and I offer to carry him upstairs and put him in his cradle. Delly hands him off and I go upstairs. I kiss Willikins tenderly one last time and lay him down on the rabbit fur pillow I made for him. I will miss him greatly.

I go downstairs and sneak out the back door, taking one last glance at Peeta who is washing pans behind the bakery. It’s better to leave this way. I am not skilled at goodbyes. I hurry to the station, and retrieve my bag from its hiding place before going inside. 

Mr. Abernathy stands behind the ticket counter. I hesitate at his sight. But then I realize he likely doesn’t know that I’m aware he wrote that proposal letter, and likely the other letters, too. I suspect he saw reason over the matter and that’s why he never approached me. 

“I’d like one ticket to Omaha,” I say.

His eyebrows rise. “Are you sure about this?” I can tell he is sad to see me leave Panem. But it is better this way.

“Yes, I’m sure.” 

“All right.” He hands me a ticket and I carry my bag outside to wait for the train.

I don’t have to wait too long before a loud whistle calls and the train’s wheels screech as it rolls into the station. When it stops, two passengers disembark and I get on. The car is nearly full, but I find an empty bench. I slide in close to the window and set my bag at my feet. The view outside is that of the copse of trees where Peeta and I shared the loaf of bread just a couple of days ago. 

I sigh and lean my head against the window, trying to think of what I will tell Prim and Rory when I arrive in Omaha.

The whistle sounds again and we begin moving. We are hardly past the station when I hear the conductor shouting. “Stop sir. Where do you think you’re going?”

The tread of stomping footfalls gets louder and then I hear a familiar voice, “Katniss, there you are.”

Confused, I turn from the window. Peeta is sweaty and flushed, sliding in the seat beside me. He pulls me into his arms and presses his lips close to the side of my head. 

 

Author’s Note: The United States Post Office began utilizing the country’s railroad system to deliver mail in 1863. That same year standard postage rates were set up regardless of distance. Prior to this, distance was the determining factor for cost. In 1869, after the completion of the transcontinental railroad, a letter could travel from New York to San Francisco in seven days.


	7. Chapter 7

I startle and Peeta’s arms hold me steady. His lips are close to my ear as he whispers. “I don’t have a ticket. Play along or I’ll be thrown off.”

I barely process his words because my body is on fire from the feel of his arms around me, and his warm breath on the side of my face. A faint scent of cinnamon and dill surrounds him, tickling my memory for some odd reason. 

The conductor stands at our seat, looking intimidating in his blue frock coat and cap. “Sir, I saw you chase after the train and leap onto the side after we took off. Do you have a ticket?”

Peeta’s hands drop from my shoulders and his right arm drapes around my waist as he turns toward the conductor. “I was talking to the stationmaster when the train left the depot. I had to run and jump on. Otherwise my wife would be going to Omaha without me.”

He turns and gives me a sweet smile and my face is burning because he called me his wife. 

“I need to see both your tickets,” the conductor insists.

I feel Peeta’s arm stiffen. “My wife is holding them,” he lies smoothly.

What? Is he trying to get me kicked off the train, too? I scowl at him and reach into my pocket. “Here’s mine,” I say handing it to the conductor. 

I look to Peeta. “I’m sure you were holding your own ticket.”

“No Katniss, remember I asked you to hold it.” 

I find myself growing anxious at the game he is playing. “Well Peeta, I don’t have it.” 

“Why don’t you check your bag?” He is insistent.

I lean forward and open my satchel and pretend to look past my clothing. “Nope, it’s not here.”

“I must have lost it,” he says, making a show of turning out his pockets, before wrapping his arm around my waist again. “I don’t understand it. I paid for two tickets. I must have dropped it when I ran for the train.

The conductor frowns. “Next stop is Laramie. You can both get off and we’ll telegraph the stationmaster to verify that you purchased two tickets.” 

“Will the train wait for the answer?” I ask panicked.

“It shouldn’t be a problem if the Panem stationmaster gets right back to us,” the conductor says.

The man leaves and Peeta immediately pulls his arm away.

“Why are you here?” I am angry with him for his brazenness, although at the same time strangely elated. 

“Why did you leave without saying goodbye?” Peeta counters. “Haymitch left the station and ran to the bakery to tell me. It was lucky I was there to catch you.” He rubs the back of his neck. 

I shake my head in confusion, puzzled as to why Haymitch would be informing Peeta of my departure. “Why would you want to catch me? I came to Panem under false pretenses,” I remind him. “I stayed because Delly and Rye needed my help. But no one needs me anymore.”

Peeta looks upset. “That’s not true Katniss. I need you.” 

I am astounded at his response, but something within compels me to continue speaking. “We are friends Peeta. Nothing more. You will find…”

Peeta stops my words with his lips. I am 26 years old and have only been kissed once before – a chaste peck from Gale years ago. But this kiss is nothing like that one. Peeta’s hand cups my cheek and pulls me closer. His lips are firm; mine are yielding. 

I know I should not allow it. He is too forward. We are in a public place. But I cannot force myself to break away. I am on fire. The sensation inside me grows warmer as it spreads throughout my body to the very tips of my being. 

The kiss surpasses any I’ve read about in the stories in Godey’s Lady’s Book. I’d often thought the writers of those flowery tales had taken great liberties in their descriptions. But now I know they are true as I’m ready to swoon when Peeta finally pulls away.

We are both panting. I am flustered as he rests his forehead against mine. What is it about this man? Ever since I arrived in Panem I have gone through an assortment of emotions and they have all been linked to the man sitting next to me.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” Peeta says, pulling his face away. “But I had to do it, at least once.”

It is all I can do to not reach out and pull him close again. 

“I’m glad you did,” I say boldly.

He seems surprised. “What about Finnick Odair?”

I snort. “I don’t want Finnick.”

“But you said…”

I interrupt him. “I thought that proposal letter came from Finnick. I thought he wanted me. Besides you only talked of friendship and Delly was going on and on about Finnick being a fine catch.”

Peeta shakes his head. “I know she has become your friend Katniss, but Delly can be, well, peculiar. And my brother is even worse.”

I laugh so hard at his unexpected comment that tears run down my cheeks.

Peeta spends the next two hours talking. A waterfall of words cascade over his lips. He tells about growing up in Illinois as the youngest son of a baker. His father died when he was eighteen, his mother only last year. 

“She was upset with me at the time of her death,” he explains. “So in her will she left the bakery to my oldest brother and her savings to Rye. That’s how he was able to open the Mercantile.”

He reaches into pocket and pulls out the watch he’d pressed into my hand on so many occasions. “This was my inheritance, my father’s pocket watch.”

My jaw drops at the unfairness. “Why did she leave you so little?”

He takes a deep breath and lets the air out slowly before answering. “My mother had a good friend with an unmarried daughter. She thought that her friend’s daughter would be the perfect match for me. I disagreed.”

Now I understand why Peeta was so upset when I arrived. It was much more than Delly blindsiding him. It was her playing matchmaker just like his mother had tried to do.

“So you came to Panem,” I prompt him curious to hear more.

He chuckles nervously. “Yes. Rye wrote me several letters that greatly exaggerated the size of the town. He claimed it was booming and in sore need of a bakery. It seemed like a good opportunity to start my own business and get ahead. Otherwise I would have spent my entire life working for my oldest brother. But when I got here…”

He gives me a look and I know exactly what he means. Panem is small. 

“If it weren’t for Haymitch helping me to obtain a contract with the railroad to sell them my baked goods, I wouldn’t have stayed. As it is, I’m barely eking out a living.”

“In fact,” he continues, “I’m fairly certain Delly lured you here because of a conversation I had with my brother about the lack of women in town.” He rubs the back of his neck and his voice lowers. “I’d like a family of my own and it didn’t seem very likely if I stayed in Panem.” 

For some reason my cheeks grow warm at his words about having a family. “Why would your brother encourage you to stay with so little opportunity?” I redirect the conversation.

Peeta runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve pondered that very question myself. Rye has sunk all of his inheritance into the Mercantile. He wants the town to grow. He needs it to if he’s to stay in business. 

“And I know he wants to help me. He feels bad about what our mother did. Although sometimes I think Rye only wants me in Panem because Delly is such a bad cook.”

I laugh at his last comment.

“No, it’s true. She nearly burned down the kitchen once. That’s why I do all the cooking.”

I had wondered at that. “You are a very good cook.”

His eyes light up at the compliment.

“Peeta, why didn’t you tell me all this before?” After listening to him I’m beyond ashamed of my childish plan to wound him because in many ways Peeta’s story of loss and making a new beginning mirrors my own. 

Peeta shakes his head. “You seemed so close to Delly. Thick as thieves.”

I think about the evenings spent in Delly’s room reading. Yes, I can see how that would appear to Peeta.

“Besides it took me a while to figure out that the odds were in my favor when Delly encouraged you to come to Panem,” he adds. “I can’t lose you now Katniss.”

His words, combined with the genuinely sincere expression on his face, convinces me of the depth of his feelings.

The conductor walks down the aisle and announces we will soon be arriving at the Laramie station. Peeta talks faster. “Katniss, I don’t have much to offer you. I’m hardly supporting myself. But please consider coming back with me. I’m sure my brother and Delly would let you stay and work for them. We could court and maybe next year when I have some money saved up we can...”

My heart races at his words. It’s an easy decision. The thought of returning to my sister’s house now and leaving this behind is unthinkable.

The conductor interrupts Peeta. “The train will stopped for the next twenty minutes,” he says. “Get off now and the stationmaster can telegraph the Panem station to verify your ticket purchase.”

“All right,” Peeta answers. He stands up and reaches for my hand, squeezing it. “I’m sorry...” he begins. 

But I stand up, too. “I’ll go back with you.” 

A momentary look of astonishment crosses his face, but then he beams. “So I must have been around Rye and Delly long enough to glean some of their persuasive abilities.”

“Perhaps,” I say. But I don’t tell Peeta that he had already me with his kiss.

He picks up the bag at my feet and together we leave the train. The conductor directs us inside the building and points out the stationmaster. “Talk to him regarding your lost ticket.” 

As soon as the conductor is gone, Peeta turns to me. “I ran out of the bakeshop so fast that I don’t have any money on me,” he explains. “We’ll have to cash in your ticket to get back to Panem. But I’ll pay you back.”

I wonder what he would have done if I had refused him and decided to continue my trip? How would he have paid for a ticket back to Panem? I don’t ask because I can guess. He’d have to sell his pocket watch.

There’s no line to purchase tickets for the train. Peeta talks to the stationmaster and explains our predicament. The man allows me to cash in the remainder of my ticket. We pay for Peeta’s trip from Panem to Laramie and then purchase return tickets back to Panem for the both of us. 

Fortunately, there is money leftover from the transaction. When it is added to the funds I had set aside in my pocket to purchase food on the train, we have enough for a meal and overnight lodgings. We must spend the night in Laramie as there is no train back to Panem until the morning. 

We walk out of the station. The late afternoon is warm and beautiful. White puffy clouds dot the bright blue sky. In the distance are snow-tipped mountains. A gentle breeze blows. 

Neither of us has been to Lararmie before and we welcome the opportunity to explore. The town has a population of about eight hundred, nearly eight times more than tiny Panem. 

There are very few women on the boardwalk that lines the dirt streets, and those I notice are dressed in outlandishly colorful garb. Several men who walk toward us try to catch my eye. Some are soldiers in uniform from the nearby Fort Sander, others are ranchers dressed in their cowboy attire. After one man’s glance turns from a penetrating stare into to lascivious leer, Peeta loops his arm through mine. I am pleased to have his protection. 

On our walk we visit a general store, which is far larger than Rye’s business, and then the Eagle Bakery on “B” Street. Peeta spends a long time talking with the owner about different kinds of flour and the modifications that must be made in recipes when cooking at higher elevations. From the conversation, Peeta’s expertise at baking is apparent. 

After we have seen the town, we stop for a steak dinner. The cattle business is growing rapidly in Wyoming Territory and the meat is fresh and tender. As we wait for our meal, the waiter suggests that Peeta purchase a bottle of champagne to go with it. 

Peeta refuses. 

“But all the ladies like champagne,” the waiter insists. He winks at me. “Isn’t that true.” He points at some other couples dining in the restaurant. 

I am puzzled by the server’s wink, but even more surprised at Peeta’s reaction. He gets angry and insists that the man leave us alone. 

“What is wrong?” I whisper when the waiter has left. 

He nods toward the other tables. “Those woman are prostitutes, Katniss.” 

My jaw drops. Is that why I was being stared at while walking on the streets today? I guess Delly was right about the lack of eligible single women in Wyoming.

Peeta changes the subject. “Katniss, can I ask you something personal?” 

I nod, uncertain of what he might be thinking. 

“Why did you answer the ad Delly placed in the newspaper?”

After spending the afternoon with Peeta and getting to know him so much better, I feel comfortable revealing my loss as well. I tell him of my parents’ tragic demise, and moving in with my sister and her husband. 

“They were kind, but I wanted more. The newspaper ad and then the letters that followed, well it gave me hope that I could have a life of my own.”

“There wasn’t anyone else in Omaha that you were, perhaps, fleeing from?” Peeta hints.

I laugh. “No one.” 

A tiny grin forms on his lips.

“Are you smiling at my lack of beaus?” I tease him.

“Just surprised.” 

“Why? Because of all the interest I’ve garnered in Panem? I don’t have much competition in that town.” 

“You don’t have much competition anywhere,” Peeta says. His arm stretches across the table and he squeezes my hand. 

We pay for our meal and leave the restaurant. It is nearly dark now and we need to find lodging. 

We’d passed several hotels as we walked through Laramie this afternoon, but we make our way to New York House, which is located across from the train station. Unlike some of the others we noticed, it looks to be a very respectable establishment and even has a sign advertising that breakfast is provided to all guests.

We enter and approach the manager on duty. He has rooms available, however we don’t have enough money to pay for two rooms. We step outside to discuss the matter.

“I’ll sleep on a bench at the train station,” Peeta says.

“No. We can find cheaper lodgings elsewhere so we both have a room.”

Peeta shakes his head. “Katniss, you wouldn’t be safe alone in your room in most of those other places. Someone could break in…” He doesn’t need to finish his statement. I can guess at what he’s thinking. And, unfortunately, I know he’s right.

“Well, stay here with me then,” I say. “Sleep on the floor.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Are you sure?”

I nod. 

“Okaaay,” he says, stretching out the word. He searches my face.

“It will be fine,” I reassure him. Even if it is improper nobody knows us here, I convince myself. But a nagging sense makes me think it might not be such a good idea. 

 

Author’s Note: In 1837 Samuel Morse independently developed and patented an electrical telegraph. Telegraph lines often ran alongside railroad tracks in the United States. Train depots used the telegraph to keep in touch with other stations down the line.   
Fort Sander, located a few miles north of Laramie, was built in 1866 to protect railroad workers from the native American peoples in the area. It was originally named Fort Buford.  
Breads and cakes usually require recipe adjustments such as increased dry ingredients and higher oven temperatures when cooked at altitudes above 3,500 feet. Why? The higher the altitude, the lower the atmospheric pressure. Lower pressure in turn causes water to evaporate more quickly, and boil at a lower temperature. The elevation of Laramie, Wyoming, is 7,165 feet.


	8. Chapter 8

We go back into the hotel and pay for a room. Peeta signs the register. The manager winks at Peeta when he hands him the key. “Hope you and the missus enjoy your stay.”

Peeta frowns and picks up my bag as we climb the stairs to the second floor.

We locate the room assigned us. It’s dim inside, lit only by an oil lamp set on a small side table beside the brass bed. On one wall is a low bureau. Above it hangs a small, round mirror. Atop it are a washbowl and a pitcher filled with water. A wooden chair sits against the opposite wall.

Peeta sets my bag on the floor next to the bureau. “I’ll give you some privacy for a bit,” he says, before turning and leaving the room.

I have no plans to change my clothing, but I remove my shoes, placing them out of the way under the bureau. I take off my petticoat and stuff it into my bag. I pull the pins from my hair to let my braid fall down my back. I unravel it, and massage my achy scalp. The bedsprings squeal as I sit down, propping myself up against the pillows. I find myself dozing off as I wait for Peeta to return.

A gentle knock awakens me. Half asleep, I hop from the bed and put my mouth close to the door.

“Who is it?”

Peeta calls out and I unbolt the door to let him in. His eyes grow big as he takes in my unbound hair, which hangs halfway down my back. I blush because I had fallen asleep before I could rebraid it.

I step back and sit on the edge of the bed. Peeta sits down in the chair that faces me. An awkward tension fills the room as I quickly form a loose plait that falls over my left shoulder. When I am done I grab a pillow, remove the top blanket from the bed, and hand it all to Peeta. 

“Thanks. I’ll sleep here.” He sets the pillow and blanket on the floor at the foot of the bed. “Would it be all right if I open the window?” 

“That would be fine.”

He tugs it open. “You can turn out the light whenever you like Katniss.”

He drops to the floor to lie down. I blow out the light, pull the sheet down on the bed, and crawl under it. A cool breeze blows through the open window and I shiver under the thin covering.

“Goodnight,” Peeta says.

I wish him the same and turn onto my side, curling up into a ball to make myself warmer. I lie in bed willing sleep to come. My fingers trace the outline of my lips as I remember Peeta’s kiss on the train. I think over the day that started with me sneaking away in despair and now leaves me in an altogether different state. 

Eventually I drift off to sleep. A nightmare follows. However, instead of the usual dream where I see my parents’ wagon tumble over on a steep road and fall down a ravine to the river below, tonight I find myself looking out the train window watching Peeta jump onto the side of a car and then fall off. I am banging on the glass as the train moves forward, as Peeta grows smaller and smaller in the distance. His loss overwhelms me. I cry out, loud and choking sobs.

I wake to squeaking springs and Peeta’s arms around me. He calms me, wiping my tears away with his hands. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he whispers. 

“No.” My dream was about losing him. But now that he’s here I’m all right. 

He pulls his arms away. “As long as you’re fine.” The springs creak as he stands.

“Stay,” I say without thinking. 

He hesitates. “Are you sure Katniss?” His voice is hoarse with sleep.

“Yes.”

“All right,” he murmurs.

I scoot over on the mattress to make room, and roll onto my side facing away from him. He positions his body around my back, placing an arm over my waist. I relax into his warmth and again breathe in the aroma of cinnamon and dill. 

“I haven’t slept in a bed in a while,” Peeta murmurs as he buries his face in the back of my hair. 

As I’m drifting off to sleep I realize why his scent is so familiar. It smells like the bed sheets the first night I stayed at Delly’s house. As I am pulled under into unconsciousness, it dawns on me that Rye put me in Peeta’s room and kicked him out to sleep on the bakery floor. I’ve been sleeping in Peeta’s bed ever since I arrived in Wyoming.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When I wake in the morning, I have a delicious feeling of happiness that is somehow connected with Peeta, until I realize that the arm draped over me, the warmth at my back is Peeta. My happiness turns into mortification. I remember having a nightmare and Peeta calming me. But then I let him stay with me in my bed. I invited him to stay.

It’s all right. Nothing happened, I tell myself. But I am humiliated. What he will think of me now? 

He’s still asleep, snoring lightly. I gently ease my body from underneath his arm and slip off the bed. The springs of the bed’s frame screech and wake Peeta from his slumber. He blinks a couple of times, and then sits up abruptly. The expression on his face indicates that he’s clearly as embarrassed as I am.

“I need to use the toilet,” I blurt out. I rush from the room in my stocking feet to go to the shared bathroom at the end of the hallway. I lock myself inside and lean my back against the door, pressing my cool hands against my warm cheeks. 

A mirror hangs above the small table that holds a washbasin. I glance at it to see my hair mussed and my face flushed. I take a deep breath and pour some water in the basin. I wet my hands and wash my face clean. I fix my hair by unbraiding it, finger-combing through it, rebraiding it, and then pulling the hairpins from my pocket and pinning up the thick braid. 

After using the facilities, I smooth out my skirt, which clings to my body without my petticoat underneath. I take another deep breath and return to the room.

Peeta opens the door after my first knock. His hair is wet and it appears he tried to smooth it down with water from the pitcher on the bureau. But some curls refuse to stay down.

“Good morning,” he greets me as I enter the room. “Did you sleep well?” 

“Yes,” I whisper, wondering if he will say anything about what happened last night. But thankfully he doesn’t. 

He pulls his watch out of his pocket and checks the time. “We should go downstairs and get breakfast.”

“All right.” I am relieved to get out of this confined space. I remove my shoes from under the bureau and sit in the chair to put them on. I remember my petticoat. “Could you step outside for a moment Peeta? I need to fix my skirt.”

“Of course,” he responds. “I’ll wait outside the room for you.” 

As soon as he is gone, I pull my petticoat from my bag, put it on, and smooth my skirt down over it. Through the door I hear talking in the hallway. I go to the door to open it but it seems to be stuck. I yank on it again. It feels like someone is pulling on the knob from the other side holding it shut. I can clearly hear Peeta’s voice so I bang on the door to get his attention. I rap for close to a minute before the door opens. 

“It was stuck,” I tell Peeta. 

He licks his lips nervously. 

“What’s wrong?” I turn from Peeta to find a pair of sea green eyes meeting mine.

Oh no. Finnick Odair. What is he doing here in Laramie? I flash a panicked look to Peeta. Seeing Finnick makes me feel immoral about sharing a room with Peeta, never mind sharing a bed. But nothing happened, I remind myself.

Peeta reaches for my hand and squeezes it. “Katniss, it seems Finnick was our neighbor last night.”

I flash a sickly smile toward the handsome man. 

A twinkle appears in his eyes and a lecherous grin on his lips. “I hope you had a decent sleep,” he says. “I heard you cry out in the middle of the night.” 

“It was a bad dream.” I say.

Finnick smiles smugly, like it he doesn’t believe my explanation. He even winks at Peeta.

I am on fire. An awkward tension fills the air.

“Finnick, can you keep a secret?” Peeta begins. 

Finnick nods. “Of course,” he purrs. A sly smile appears on his face, like he expects to hear Peeta recite a tawdry tale of debauchery. 

“Katniss and I eloped.”

Peeta raises my hand and kisses the back of it, throwing me an apologetic smile. I hide my face in his chest. Why would he tell Finnick we’ve wed? But I don’t have to think much about it because I know why. Peeta is saving my reputation. 

“Let me be the first to congratulate you two,” Finnick says. The astonishment in his voice is evident. 

Finnick extends his hand and Peeta’s arm snakes around my body to shake it.

I pull my face back from Peeta’s chest and smile weakly at Finnick.

“And a kiss for the bride of course,” Finnick adds, tipping his head toward Peeta as if to get his permission. 

Peeta nods, and Finnick bends down to kiss my cheek. Afterwards he puts his lips to my ear. “You could have done much better my dear,” he whispers loudly.

I can’t tell if Finnick means it to be a jest or if he is serious. But I defend Peeta soundly. “No, Finnick I don’t think I could have.” 

I flash a quick smile at Peeta but the look in his eyes leaves me breathless. Weeks ago I saw something in Peeta’s eyes that hinted at interest. But this look, well it’s far more than that. Peeta Mellark is in love with me. 

We follow Finnick downstairs to the dining room. Peeta’s arm stays around my waist to keep up the act, but it feels less and less like an act to me. We sit down to the table that is heaped with platters of griddlecakes and sausages and stewed fruit. Several other hotel guests are already seated and eating.

A woman comes in and pours us hot coffee, and then tops it off with thick, frothy cream. Finnick stands to whisper into her ear. She grins, and then leaves the room.

We pile our plates with food. A few minutes later the woman returns with a tray holding an open bottle of champagne and several glasses. 

She sets it down on the table next to Finnick and my stomach drops. 

Finnick stands up to speak to everyone at the table. “My dear friends from Panem, Peeta and Katniss have gotten married. I’d like everyone to join me in a toast to the happy couple.” 

Peeta reaches for my hand and squeezes it. I throw him a nervous smile before accepting a glass from Finnick. 

Once everyone has drunk to our lifelong happiness, Finnick asks Peeta if we’re returning to Panem today. 

“Yes. We have our tickets already.”

“Wonderful,” Finnick says. “I’m done with my business here so I’m returning too.”

I groan inwardly. What are we going to do? We can’t let this charade continue. We will have to tell Finnick the truth. Because it may look bad, but nothing happened that either of us needs to be ashamed about.

After we eat, Peeta leaves to retrieve my bag from the room. I am left alone with Finnick. Desperate to avoid discussion about my fake marriage, I ask him about his visit to Laramie.

“I was visiting my sweetheart Annie,” he says. “She’s a schoolteacher here in Laramie. I’ve been buying pencils for all her students.”

I am astounded. Finnick has a sweetheart? I thought he was buying pencils as an excuse to flirt with me. How could I have been so very wrong? And if he didn’t write the letters, who did?

We are sitting at the dining table when the manager comes over carrying the hotel register. He sets it down in front of us. 

“Mitchell forgot to get your signature last night, Mr. Odair,” the manager says. 

Finnick snorts. “I got here late. I had to wake him up to get my key.”

The manager frowns and hands Finnick a pen.

“I hadn’t planned to stay an extra day but I missed Annie so much,” Finnick tells me.

I watch Finnick as he writes. His signature is sloppy, not much better than a young child’s. My eyes glance up the page and I note Peeta’s signature. Peeta Mellark and wife.

I know he wrote it that way to protect me. To preserve my good name.

But a shiver runs down my spine as I continue to stare at it. I know that hand. Even though it is a small writing sample, Peeta’s script with it loops and scrolls is exactly the same as the penmanship in the two letters that were shoved under the Mercantile door. I was completely wrong about their author. Peeta has been wooing me all along and I didn’t see it.

 

Author’s Note: The word “elope” can be traced back to 1338, when it was defined as a wife leaving her husband to run off with a lover. The meaning changed in the early 1800s to describe lovers who ran away to get married to each other, not to get away from a spouse.


	9. Chapter 9

Finnick and I sit on a sofa in the hotel’s tiny parlor when Peeta returns with my bag. 

“We might as well go to the train station,” Peeta says. 

Our brief time in Laramie, precious and sweet, is over. Real life beckons. I try to catch Peeta’s eye, but he deliberately avoids me. We leave the hotel and stroll across the street to the train station to wait. Peeta keeps the act up by resting his hand on the small of my back as we walk.

Finnick monopolizes the conversation with news of his latest business venture. He plans to take up cattle ranching. 

Peeta prompts him to continue his monologue by asking questions whenever it appears that Finnick has run out of things to say. All the time he holds my hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

But I am not reassured. In fact, I find myself increasingly upset with Peeta. What are we going to do about the lie he’s told Finnick? And secondly, why has Peeta never mentioned the letters he wrote to me? They are so beautiful. Is he shy about his feelings toward me? 

The train arrives and we climb aboard. Fortunately Finnick has purchased a seat in the first class train car. At last I have Peeta alone to myself. We sit down together on the bench.

“You can let go of my hand now.” 

He releases it. “It will be all right,” he says, sensing my distress. 

“How will it be all right? Finnick thinks we’re wed. I can only imagine what he’ll say to everyone we get to Panem.”

“We can take care of that easily enough,” Peeta says.

I shake my head wondering how he plans to do it. 

“I saw the hotel register,” I add. “I saw how you signed the book.”

“I had to do it that way Katniss.” He rubs the back of his neck. 

“I know.” My cheeks burn thinking of Peeta Mellark and wife. “But that’s not what I’m upset about. Your signature matches this writing.”

I bend down and reach into my bag to pull out the other two letters I received. “Why didn’t you admit to writing these?” I wave the folded sheets in front of him.

Peeta’s eyebrows rise. “How many letters have you received Katniss?”

Before I can answer, he reaches for them and unfolds the first one. 

I watch his face as reads it, and then the second one as well. When he has finished, he just shakes his head.

“This is my brother’s hand. Our mother taught us how to write and our penmanship is very similar.”

“Why would your brother be writing me love letters?” But I can already guess the answer. They were meant to encourage me to stay in Panem. 

“Delly must have dictated them,” Peeta says, looking over them a second time. “I can assure you that my brother would never have thought up these flowery words on his own.” He pauses for a moment to look at me. “Katniss, did you think I wrote these?”

“Yes,” I mumble, dropping my head. I must admit I am disappointed.

He puts his hand under my chin to raise it up and looks me straight in the eye. “I have never even once written to you. And while I agree whole-heartedly with the sentiment expressed in these letters, it’s clear you want a note especially from me. I’ll have to remedy that.”

The conductor interrupts our conversation and asks for our tickets. Peeta sets the letters on the seat between us, and pulls the tickets from his pocket. 

When the conductor has punched them, Peeta asks the man if he can borrow a pencil. The conductor hands one over. While Peeta scribbles something onto one of the tickets, I turn my head to stare out the window and watch the landscape flash past. 

I am pondering a solution to the problem that we now face when Peeta taps my shoulder and hands the ticket to me.

“Here Katniss. Your first letter from me.” 

I glance at the ticket. He has written, Marry me? It seems Peeta does not mince words.

My heart pounds. “You do realize this is my third proposal letter?” I say coyly.

“Well they say the third one is the charm,” Peeta quips. “But for the record, it’s the only proposal that’s been real.”

“Well the first one from Delly may have been fake, but what about Haymitch’s letter?” 

“I had a long talk with Haymitch about that letter,” Peeta says. “He figured a marriage proposal would get your attention. It was his intent to draw us both to the train station around the same time to converse, although he never even told me about it until later. It seems Delly and Rye were not the only ones playing matchmaker.”

“Haymitch didn’t want to marry me?” 

Peeta snorts. “No, I think Haymitch is married to his whiskey bottle.”

I am very relieved to hear that. The idea that Haymitch was interested in me had struck me as wrong in a very profound way. I smile to myself and turn back to the scenery again. 

“Katniss.” Peeta taps my shoulder a second time. “You haven’t answered my letter.” 

I turn back to him and smile smugly. “I’m thinking.”

“Waiting for a better offer?” 

“No,” I say. “I don’t think I could get a better offer.”

Peeta reaches for my hand and laces his fingers through it. He grins at me, and then leans forward to press his lips to mine. It’s too brief a kiss for my liking. “I’ll save the rest for when we get home.”

“You do realize that we’re not married yet?”

“Believe me, after last night I am painfully aware of it,” Peeta says. “In fact, in light of everything that’s happened I think we should skip the courtship altogether and just get married.”

“But you said you needed to save up?”

“We’ll manage somehow. Besides after these,” he picks up the letters he’d set on the seat between us and hands them back to me, “I think my brother owes the both of us.”

“But what will we tell everyone when we get back?” I ask, as I stuff the letters into my pocket.

“Leave it up to me,” Peeta interrupts me with a light kiss. “I have an idea.”

We hold hands the rest of the way to Panem. Besides Finnick who exits from the car ahead of us, we are the only passengers who are let off. Finnick gives a quick wave as he heads toward town.

“I need to talk with Haymitch first,” Peeta tells me. He sets my bag down near the bench at the back of the station and I sit and wait for him to return.

I take a deep breath and smell the pine. The train pulls out of the station. Peeta is gone for a while, but then he returns with Haymitch by his side.

“So you came back to marry Peeta?”

I nod. 

“Well, I’ll do the ceremony tonight then.” 

What? My head is spinning at his words. I look to Peeta for an explanation.

“Haymitch used to be a preacher,” Peeta says. “He can marry us.”

My jaw drops. Fellow traveler. Deliveryman. Stationmaster. Matchmaker. Preacher. Haymitch has played many roles in my life ever since I first laid eyes on him. 

Haymitch nods and goes back into the station.

Peeta picks up my bag and puts out his arm for me. We link our arms and head toward the bakery. 

“Let me do the talking when we get to the Mercantile,” Peeta says. “I promise everything will all work out for good.”

Peeta and I enter the Mercantile arm in arm. 

Delly screams when she sees us. She rushes up to me. Peeta lets go of my arm just before Delly throws her arms around me in a big hug.

“I knew Peeta would convince you to come back,” she shouts. 

“There’s even more Delly,” Peeta says. “Katniss and I are married.”

Delly squealed.

“What are you screaming about Delly?” Rye calls from the backroom. “You’re going to wake up the baby,” he says as he enters the store.

“You’re back,” Rye says. 

“I am.” Peeta glares at his brother. “Now you’ll have to excuse me. I want to cook a big celebration dinner for my bride.”

He kisses my temple and gives me an encouraging smile. Then he walks past his brother toward the kitchen, taking my bag with him.

“Peeta and Katniss got married,” Delly says. 

Rye beams. “That’s great.” He wraps his arms around me and hugs me close. “Welcome to the family.” When Rye pulls away, I reach into my pocket and pull out the two letters that he wrote.

“Can you explain these?” 

He gulps and then glances at Delly. “I told you it was a bad idea.”

“Now, Katniss,” she says. 

The problem is that the original letters Delly wrote and the later ones she dictated to Rye did play a big part in bringing Peeta and I together which only reinforces the idea that they did the right thing. But it was plain wrong for both of them to mislead me like that. 

However today is my wedding day. I don’t want to fight.

“Don’t ever do anything like this again,” I warn Delly. “If you ever try to get between Peeta and me for any reason, making me wonder at what’s real and what’s not...” 

I don’t say anymore. From the expression on Delly’s face, I think she gets my meaning.

I excuse myself and go upstairs to get cleaned up. My room is the same as I left it yesterday afternoon, although the letter on the trunk has disappeared. My bag is sitting on the floor. Peeta must have carried it up.

While the water heats for bathing, I peer through the tiny kitchen window and watch Peeta at his out-door oven. I wonder what he’s baking. It’s too late in the day to make bread for the railroad. 

I carry the warm water upstairs, strip down, and wash myself clean. I unpack my second best dress, as I had worn my best dress to Laramie. I shake out the wrinkles and put it on. It is completely out-of-fashion with its fuller skirt and the calico print with tiny orange flowers on a brown background. But it fits well and with my braided hair pinned up along my neckline, it makes my neck look long and slender. I want to look especially pretty for Peeta.

I go downstairs and am shooed back upstairs by Delly. “Peeta gave me strict orders to keep you up here.” I turn to go back up and Delly follows me.

She pulls me inside her room and we sit on the bed together while she nurses my sweet nephew-to-be. “I’m so excited for you. Tell me all about your wedding.” 

I am not a good enough liar to make up a wedding that never occurred. Instead I tell her I wish she had been there to see it. 

Delly’s eyes light up. “Oh, Katniss, Peeta has such a surprise planned for you.”

My heart races. But there is nothing to worry about. 

With the help of his brother, Peeta prepares an elaborate wedding supper. They carry the table out of the kitchen, place it outside, and cover it with a white cloth. Rye has shot a wild turkey, which Peeta roasts. There are side dishes of browned potatoes, apple chutney, green beans, cherry preserves, and biscuits and honey. For dessert Peeta brings out a wedding cake decorated with elaborate swirls of frosting and topped with the yellow flower tops of dandelions to give it a festive appearance. 

Haymitch and Finnick join our feast. Both bring refreshments; Haymitch, a bottle of whiskey, and Finnick, more champagne. I drink a glass of champagne and a few sips from Peeta’s glass of whiskey. The conversation is pleasant and Peeta has his arm around my waist for the entire meal. We feed each other biscuits topped with honey. I am relaxed as the sun lowers on the horizon. 

When we have finished our meal, Peeta makes a suggestion. “I have a wonderful idea Katniss. We should recite our vows a second time for everyone to witness. Haymitch used to be a minister. He can conduct the ceremony because he knows all of the words by heart.” Peeta winks at me and tickles my side, when I nod in agreement. 

Delly goes inside the house to bring out the baby who has woken from his nap, and we all stroll down the road and past the train tracks to the line of pines where Peeta and I had eaten the warm bread days ago. The light is golden with orange hues as the sun sets. Haymitch leads Peeta and I in a recitation of the age-old promise “to love and to cherish from this day forth.” 

Delly cries of course, and I wish my sister were in attendance but I will write to her about this moment. Oddly, I feel the presence of my own dear parents surrounding me and wishing me a lifetime of happiness with Peeta that surpasses even their own. At the end of the short ceremony, Peeta tenderly presses his lips to mine. I blush, and everyone cheers.

We walk back to the Mercantile, and Delly and Rye refuse to let us clean up. They send us straight up to bed. 

And this is precisely where the story would conclude if it were a tale in Godey’s Lady’s Book. The reader would be resigned to guess on the intimacies to come. And that is only proper because the conduct that occurs behind the marital door should remain private.

But because you have read my entire story and have taken such interest in it, I will hint at that most secret of epilogues shared only between Peeta and myself. A consummation of love communicated through lingering kisses and soft sighs, gentle touches and pleasurable caresses, racing heartbeats and tangled limbs. Much better than a letter from Peeta any day.

 

Author’s Note: The cattle boom in Wyoming began with the construction of the railroad and lasted through 1886. The mild winters, large grassy areas, and the nearby railroad contributed to its success. (The harsh winter of 1886-1887 decimated the business, which never built up again to previous levels.) Even today, though, Wyoming is known as the Cowboy State.

THE END

 

Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, and/or given kudos for this story. Your support is greatly appreciated.  
I own a huge debt of gratitude to honeylime08 for recommending this story on her tumblr site. Her recommendation helped draw in more readers to this story than to any of my other historic fics. Many thanks, as well, to everyone who reblogged honeylime08’s recommendation.   
I am presently posting a seven-part time travel story on tumblr’s Prompts In Panem called "The Shimmering Colors Between Two Worlds." When it’s complete, I will post that story to this site as well.  
My next writing project is to complete "It Takes A Village," the tale I have submitted for the 2014 Fandom4LLS. It’s my plan to begin posting that entire story, which takes place in an in-Panem universe, in early December. I also have an idea for another historic fic, as well, and hope to begin researching the topic soon.


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